A Memory of Luskan
by QueenoftheDarned
Summary: Joske once played in the courts of Silverymoon; now, he's just a lonely bard without a stage, in a city he can't wait to leave behind him.


**A Memory of Luskan**

The smoky dawn was the closest thing Luskan had to a golden hour. It was the short time before most of its inhabitants rose from their beds, and after its more unsavoury ones had retired to theirs. Joske was neither of these; he didn't belong to this godsforsaken city. In fact, he couldn't wait to leave it behind. Soot and rubble were one thing, but constantly having to look over his shoulder was quite another. He'd had his fill of cutthroats. He'd even endure the whispers he'd gotten sick of in Silverymoon over this.

What he needed was a ship; someone to take him away from this city of ash and smoke. The docks weren't safe to walk alone. In Razorwing territory, he was more likely to find the sharp end of a rusty blade than a ship willing to take him south. Instead, he waited upriver on the relatively welcoming north bank and looked out into the harbour, where several large ships were docked. Two of these were privateer vessels flying the Winter Duke's colours. Another belonged to ship Kurth, judging by its orange banners. As for the others, well. Perhaps they would take him, or perhaps they would take one look at his ruined face and declare him bad luck. He'd learned long ago that it could go either way.

When the One-Eyed Jax opened, Joske slipped inside and took a seat by the fire. The Luskan chill was different from that of the northern cities. Up north the cold was crisp, the ice beautiful. Here, the snow became dirty slush beside the ruined roads, and the cold settled into your bones. By his feet lay an old, arthritic mutt - he might have thought it dead had it not raised its weary heard at his approach. The barkeep, Serena, brought him a glass of mulled wine to chase away the cold. It was a little early for drinking, but Luskan folk weren't the type to judge, and Joske couldn't complain. Even the cheapest wine was better than the sticky molasses-like liqueur preferred by the drow who hung about in this part of town.

"You look like you've been out all night," Serena said pityingly. Actually, Joske had managed to snatch a few hours of sleep in a draughty boarding house by the river, but the walls were as thin as the broth they served for supper. He smiled shyly and mumbled his thanks for the wine, and Serena went off to fetch him some breakfast.

"Few traders dare make port here anymore," she told him when he finally got around to inquiring about a ship. "Those who do are made of sterner stuff than most, to be able to put up with Borgarsson's bullying."

Joske supposed he shouldn't be surprised to hear such talk about the Winter Duke. The One-Eyed Jax was decked out in Ship Kurth's colours. Still, he held his tongue and went for an impartial nod and a smile. Being openly disparaging of any faction in Luskan was the quickest way to receive a knife in the gut. His ears pricked up though, when Serena went on; "You might try the captain of the Burlington. I saw his ship docked in the harbour yesterday evening. He comes by whenever he's in the city, looking for... well, I don't know what he's looking for. He's a _man_," she added, with some weight behind her words, as if that should speak for itself.

"Who should I look out for?" It was the most words Joske had spoken since he had arrived; Serena had done enough talking for them both. She smiled at him like someone trying to coax a frightened animal out of hiding.

"Wylan Flintcoat. He's a tall fellow with a sc-" she suddenly blinked and changed tack. "Tall," she said again, "white hair, all sharp angles. You can't miss him, really." Despite her attempt to spare his feelings, Joske felt himself growing red, and Serena wasn't faring much better. The word she hadn't said seemed to hang in the air between them.

"Thanks," he muttered, looking away. Serena went to go, but at the last minute she turned back to him.

"I can point you out to him, if you like," she said. "When he comes in." Joske nodded without looking up, and after a pause he heard her retreating footsteps.

He kept his spot by the hearth even as the pub's usual clientele started to trickle in. Though in most cities it was unusual to see drow at all, let alone in large numbers, Luskan's general state of decay meant prejudices were more easily put aside where coin was concerned. Those who congregated here had plenty to spend on their favourite vices. Joske paid them no mind, although he could feel curious eyes on him. It wasn't like anyone would recognize him.

He turned his thoughts back to the captain Serena had spoken of. Besides what she had told him, he knew nothing about the man - not even the kind of ship he captained - since he'd cut their conversation short. The whole idea had been ridiculous, he thought, the sliver of hope he'd been nurturing slipping away. He had no experience aboard a ship. His hands were smooth from years spent playing the lyre in the courts of Silverymoon, not strong enough for a grueling life at sea. Any captain would take one look at him and laugh. He was about to get up and leave when someone took a seat in the armchair opposite him. The man was tall, with white hair and a sharply angular face - and an old, ragged scar that ran from his lip to his cheek.

"I hear you're looking for passage," said the stranger, placing a glass of brandy on the little table between them and leaning forward. "Where do you want to go?" He didn't flinch or look away, but regarded Joske with piercing eyes. Joske found his mouth had suddenly gone dry.

"Anywhere," he said finally, and Wylan Flintcoat leaned back in his chair, considering this. He rubbed a spot just below his earlobe, the rings there glinting in the firelight. He seemed to be appraising the stranger before him, and Joske felt himself wither under his stare. "I can pay my way," he added stiffly. "And I'll work. I'm not looking for a free ride." At this, Wylan's mouth turned up at one corner.

"You've worked on a ship before?" When Joske didn't reply, he gave a quiet laugh. "Didn't think so. Still, I don't blame you for wanting to get out of this shit hole. I take it you're not running from the law."

"No." Joske had to look away. The other man's stare was starting to unnerve him. He had the look of a man who didn't let much escape him.

"But you're running from something."

"A man's entitled to his past, surely?" the words came out more curtly than Joske had intended, but Wylan didn't seem to take offense.

"Can't argue with that. Well, as long as you don't bring any trouble aboard with you, the Burlington's got an empty bunk. Fifty gold will take you as far as Baldur's Gate." Inwardly, Joske balked at the price, but he said nothing. He knew a test when he saw one.

"Thirty gold," he replied. The captain's eyes gleamed.

"Forty."

"Thirty, and I'll give you half now." Wylan pretended to think the offer over, then held out a calloused hand.

"You have a deal..." He raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"Joske Keyralei." They shook hands, and Wylan downed the rest of his drink as Joske counted out fifteen gold coins.

"Wind's changing," said the captain, setting his empty glass back down on the table. "I want to depart by this time tomorrow." Joske nodded his assent, and a few moments later Wylan had gone, melting into the growing crowd. Joske was on his own again, still huddled in a chair surrounded by the cloying smell of drow liquor and beer, with no friends in the world and no plan.

Something fundamental had changed, though, and his spirits had lifted along with it. Finally he had passage, and soon he would be free of this ashen, rubble-strewn city for good. Maybe he would even find somewhere to belong out there, no longer haunted by the memories of his former life. But before all that, he had to pack his things.

_One step at a time _, he thought, tossing a few silver coins onto the table for Serena and heading for the door. _One step at a time_.


End file.
